New Year's Eve

 

Wow! New Year’s Eve already. Where did this last week go?

New tradition. I opened my presents on Christmas Eve as I knew I was going to be either awfully busy or perhaps incapacitated on the actual day.

Christmas Day. Just Nellybert, Howard and the five dogs.

I managed to cook a turkey to perfection and made some excellent gravy. We had chocolate Pavlova with cherries and blackberries for dessert and, of course, too much wine.

After dinner we sat down to watch Nick Cave and Nat King Cole on YouTube. Howard left at dark to see to his chickens and Bert and I settled down to a couple of episodes of Fargo. We are all caught up now and now have to wait for the weekly dole out.

I fed nine on Boxing Day. We three, four Haribos Swisser and son. There was only one extra dog, Rex, who was so chilled you’d hardly know he was there.

It was a busy day as I had desserts to complete and vegetable dishes to prepare. And… new gravy to make. Secret ingredient – remains of old gravy. Gravy was going to be important as the roast chicken dinner I’d made for the Haribos a few weeks earlier had insufficient gravy and this was very disappointing. They were fighting over the last teaspoonful. Not Zoe, of course, as she was reared on disappointing dinners. However, her stoicism must be wearing off for she was quite miffed to find a plain, day-before Brussels sprout on her plate. I did serve sprouts, sliced, braised with carrots and seasoned with soy sauce and they were good. Even Hannah enjoyed them not realising that she was eating the much-maligned and hateful sprout.

For dessert I served a citrussy, almondy Italian cake (Papa Haribo’s favourite), a baked cheesecake, a trifle and the leftover Pavlova. When the food settled we played charades which was a lot of fun.

The day after Boxing Day was a Wednesday. Ben and Sara called and that is all I remember about that. We watched another episode of Fargo. Bert is obsessed with The League of Gentlemen and is working his way through all the series. He finds it unsettling and scary.

Thursday we had Lulu to stay as her people are going to Glasgow for Hogmanay.

Friday evening brought the young Haribos straight off the train from Derry.

Saturday the young ones and Lulu Netflixed and chilled (in bed) for most of the day. After I’d left them home and had a bit of supper we watched Saltburn. There were bits were I had to cover my eyes. Unsettling. A bit scary.

Today, Sunday, New Year’s Eve has been quiet. Except for Lulu, upstairs yapping her head off because nobody will keep her company in bed. She was in heaven yesterday with Martha and Evie. Hannah is working and Woody still hasn’t worked out how to use the cat flap.

This is the first day it hasn’t been raining for ages. It is almost worrying.

Just now, out looking to see where Woody has got too. I see a flash of white in the hen run and wait for him. He spends a lot of time in there. I hear voices chattering on the road, in a language I don’t recognise and being nosey I wait to see who it is. Three young men walk past the end of the lane, each of them carrying bags of groceries. There are a lot of people from SE Asia staying around here. They looked like they might be planning a party. I do hope so. Somebody has to.

One of my Christmas presents was a collection of short films from Martha and Evie’s dad. The following pictures are screenshots from the films.

I

The Day Before Christmas Eve

I'll start with the night before the day before Christmas Eve when we had a visit from the smartest man I know. It is always good to see him and I always have considerations to lay before him. His main strengths are the management of domestic appliances, Irish politics and catering. He was here once when our cooker had stopped working and he just went into the kitchen and fixed it. Regarding Irish politics his most recent advice is to disengage from X/Twitter. Last night he gave me some great suggestions for good gravy and red cabbage. Sadly I don't totally remember the details except that both recipes involved the addition of port and I have two bottles of port - which is handy.

I seem to live in Tescos these days. Back again this morning (really early) and had some lovely interactions with staff and fellow shoppers. Lots of smiles and happy chats. I am so into Christmas this year mainly the goodwill to all men/people part. This is how I should spend the rest of my life. There was a really lovely conversation with a fellow oldie in the carpark about the craziness of Christmas food shopping. Her trolly, I couldn't help but notice, was full of bread. Then she told me, it was for the swans in Broughshane. How lovely. I asked her if the black swans were still around. They are. Thanks be. Then she started on a rant about the crows who were also after the swan's bread. I was slightly disappointed in her. But that's me - woke as fuck. The swans are lovely but I also love and admire those much maligned corvids.

  

The Big Shop

The big shop begins with a list, a list carefully curated to the last ounce of caster sugar. But first I have the last Christmas present to buy, a task somewhat hindered by the future recipient of the last Christmas present being in my company. Never daunted, I give her a tenner to browse TK Maxx while I peruse H&M. Sadly, H&M has been cleared out of the best stuff but I buy something anyway. I meet Martha (for it is she) in TK Maxx to find that nothing has caught her fancy. She has other ideas. I am frogmarched to Superdrug where she spends her tenner on lip oil and other essential cosmetics that did not exist in my young day. 

On to Tescos where I discover that my carefully curated list has been left on the kitchen table. I panic slightly and call a crisis meeting with Martha. She reassures me that it will be OK and I bring forward the motion that no matter what happens we will HAVE FUN. 

So, caster sugar. I remembered that. Off to the home baking shelves where we were stopped by a young man carrying a tub of baking powder.

He asked,

Is this the same thing as baking soda?

Both of us,

No. It's not.

Me,

Is it for a recipe?

He,

Yes.

Me,

You'll definitely need baking soda then. It's in a similar tub.

Martha,

Look! There it is!

Talk about grateful. He couldn't thank us enough. Most gratifying.

On to the caster sugar.

Me,

Can you see any Martha?

Woman beside us,

I'm looking for caster sugar too.

Martha,

I can't see any. Would golden caster sugar do?

Me to woman,

Is it for a recipe?

Woman,

Yes. My friend and I are making a pavlova.

Me,

You'll definitely need ordinary caster sugar then. It will keep the meringue pale. Try Lidls. They always have caster sugar.

Me to Martha,

Get us. Baking consultants. Don't forget to tell your mother.

I bought the golden caster sugar and everything that was on the left-behind list except fruit and three kinds of cream. I can get that in the local Spar. The bit more I spend will be offset by fuel costs.

Yet I still need to go into town tomorrow. Pet supplies, dog treats, a new peanut feeder for the birds and another Kong. Bert lost one today. It was Cleo's favourite toy.

How did that happen?

They were annoying me with it so I threw it over the shed roof.

But over the shed roof means it always ends up in the midden*.

I forgot the midden was there.

*Midden - dunghill**

**Dunghill - big pile of cow shite

 

Babies Aren't Fluffy

When does Christmas begin?  Some would say when the deckos and tree go up. In that case, there will be no Christmas at Nellybert's for there is no tree, no deckos. I excused myself because of Woody, the new kitten who is far more fun than Christmas trees and who would demolish a tree just as he is destroying my chilli plant by breaking its branches and batting all its baubles (ripening chillis) to the ground. He has yet to bite into one. 

Ben is very enamoured of Woody which is as it should be as it was him and his beloved who rescued the tiny kitty from the main street in Portglenone and brought him to us. He was cuddling Woody on Sunday, cradling the kitten like an infant, and Woody was loving it. I said,

Just think Ben. In a few years you might just be cuddling a real live baby.

He said,

I don't think so. Babies aren't as good as kittens. They're not fluffy.

Meanwhile, in homes from Dingle to Norfolk, people of all ages, kittenless people are putting up their Christmas trees and wreathes, real trees, vintage trees, arty trees, with hand-crafted ornaments, heirloom baubles, felted mice, stars, fairies, coloured lights, white lights and tinsel strands. I'm slightly envious. Next year, definitely next year - unless Ben and Sara find me another kitten.   

Trees and wreathes from the fam whatsapp. At least one of those trees was grown from seed by one of us. It wasn't me.

Fred: How It Began

 

Posted on 16th November, 2015

Holly is not a happy cat...   but Bonnie is pleased with her new kitten.

Sharing the scoff

On Friday I was walking on the Ballymena-Doagh road when I heard a tinkling and a squeaking. I looked around and there was a little ginger kitten following me. The tinkling was coming from a bell on its collar. There were no houses nearby and I could not understand why such a young cat was out on the road. There had been a woman driver behaving oddly about five minutes before I encountered the kitten. She had went to pull in, spotted me and drove on. I looked behind me and she'd pulled to the side again. I thought she might have noticed a flat tire and wondered if I should offer to help but she drove off again. Did she dump that kitten? I think she did. I couldn't leave it - the road was far too busy and dangerous. Maybe it was someone's lost pet but little cats do not tend to stray far from home and this one was at least a quarter of a mile from the nearest house. Nevermind. He lives here now and Holly de Cat is not best pleased. But Bonnie is delighted with her new kitten.

Resting up a spell

Goodbye To Fred

 

Fred died today after a short illness. He was just over fifteen years old.

After we said goodbye to Fred, Bert said,

It's been a tough year for ginger boys.

Get Me To The Church On Time

 Wellington Street back in the day when Bert knew what was what and where things were.

So yesterday we went to see the EAMS Christmas Concert to support Evie who would be playing the cello in the Junior Orchestra.

As always, I wanted to be early so asked Bert how long to drive to Wellington Church. He replied,

About 15 minutes.

Oh good, thought I. No more cutting it fine.

Where shall we park?, says he.

It's a big church, says I. Should be plenty of parking spaces.

We set off. Bert did not take the road I expected him to. He drove right through the village and past the end of the Fenaghy Road, I asked him

What way are you going?

Into town. Obviously.

I thought you’d go by Galgorm.

Why?

Because that’s the way to the church.

Wellington Church? That’s on Wellington Street.

It’s not. It’s on the Sourhill Road.

Since when?

About fourteen years. Haven’t you noticed it? The church on Wellington Street was demolished around seven years ago. Surely you noticed that?

When am I ever on Wellington Street?

Every time you drive through the centre of Ballymena.

We still managed to make the Sourhill Road in good time and the concert was beyond excellent. Evie and all the young musicians put on an accomplished show. Their teachers and mentors should be very proud of themselves. 

Walking and Sleeping

Since I started wearing my I Can't Believe It's Not A Fitbit I've been obsessed with my sleeping patterns. My average sleeping time is 7hr and 40m which is good and if I find, on waking up, that I've slept 6 hours or less I return to bed to catch an extra hour. This will be after going outside with Cleo for at least ten minutes (rain or hail) to supervise her morning pees and poos for, if I don't, she shamelessly does it in the house. 

Back to sleeping. I started reading Paul Lynch's Prophet Song a couple of days ago and even though I've barely got into it I had a vivid dream about living in a police state. There were two factions, Tories and Nazis and we ordinary people were living in fear. My dream featured a long urban street, lots of people around, uniformed Police/soldiers dotted in every other doorway and all the people were white. All the black and brown people had disappeared. It was scary and I was glad to wake up from it.

In better news since I got the ICBINAF I have been walking every day without fail and feel much better for it. Walks usually find me in the woods but if I have errands in town I might walk there. Yesterday it was Belfast and I expected to clock up plenty of steps. We were meeting friends for lunch and left the choice of venue to them. It was five minutes from Great Victoria Street Station. But, despite lack of walking opportunities the place was great, food was good and the company enjoyable. Drink was nice too. We decided to do it again soon. In Barcelona. I need a new passport. An Irish one this time. 

On White Goods

Our washing machine packed up and no-one could remember how long we'd had it. Hannah said it was at least six years but I thought it might be slightly longer than that. I decided to check the old blog to see if there was any mention of it but no. Whilst checking I found an entry from seventeen time ago and I had absolutely no memory of ever having had that conversation.  

We've had two more dishwashers since then. Stuff just doesn't last any more. Hopefully the current one will go for a good few years more seeing as I only use it about once a week. Like the guy said, I usually wash them in the sink now, just like our grandmothers did.

Martha washing dishes in the sink assisted by Auntie Hannah. Those were the days when she thought washing dishes was fun and raincoat and wellies were essential. I call that picture The Girls Who Never Take Their Coats Off.

The Honest Sales Assistant (2006)

Bert and I went to Ballymena yesterday to buy a replacement dishwasher. While Bert trotted off to the bank to pay in some cheques I went to a local shop where they always provide good service. I have to say that I found the price of their dishwashers a bit breath taking at first. There were machines costing in excess of £300 and I’d told Bert we’d be paying less than £200. So when the sales assistant approached me to ask if he could help I asked him if he had any less expensive dishwashers. He led me over to another part of the shop and showed me a much cheaper machine. I’d never heard of the make but it looked all right to me.

So why is this machine so much cheaper than the others?

Because it’s manufactured in the third world using cheap materials from China.

Oh.

This machine was made by people who aren’t getting a proper wage for their work. People who work in unsafe conditions. People who are, in fact, children!

So is it any good?

There’s not a thing wrong with it.

Even so you’ve put me off a bit. I don’t like the idea of buying a dishwasher that was made by badly treated children. Should you be telling me this?

I’ll not be telling you lies. I have the man above to answer to when I die!

Would you buy this dishwasher?

A dishwasher! I don’t think so. People have no need of dishwashers at all. After all how did our grandmothers manage? What’s wrong with washing dishes in the sink? People have no need of half the stuff they have these days! When Armageddon comes….

Thankfully at this point Bert joined us and I managed to change the subject. We did not buy the very unethical dishwasher. We bought another one instead. Ten pounds more but at least I can sleep at night. ;)